


Tug and pull

by mformarmite



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015), The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Finger Sucking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Moaning, One Shot, Oral Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Short One Shot, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:13:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7861360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mformarmite/pseuds/mformarmite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Illya looks away quickly. This much attention from Napoleon is unnatural for him. And all that adrenaline with nowhere to go, is making illya all but hard."</p><p>A variation of that damn "I can't look away from that sliver of abdomen showing when you lift up your arms" trope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tug and pull

**Author's Note:**

> I have no reasons for this, I just wanted to write some smut. I hope you'll enjoy. 
> 
> I have no beta, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

Illya stumbles through the rubble and debris of the fallen safe house, supports himself on a broken concrete beam and coughs a couple of times.

"Whoever said this store house was safe is a liar," Napoleon remarks and looks over to Illya whose hand is bleeding badly from when he pushed the fallen zinc roofing off of Napoleon. He thanks the heavens it was only the ceiling that fell and not the walls. At least they could rest for awhile after running away from the _Ruslav brothers_ and wait for Waverly to send a chopper their way soon. They wouldn't be hard to spot.

Napoleon looks around for any kind of cloth he could use to stem the wound but decides he will just use a piece of his undershirt and tears off a length. He wraps it gently around Illya's hand. "There, that should stop the bleeding for now."

Illya snatches his hand away and mumbles a thanks. His eyes glances sideways and notices napoleon's abdomen showing from where he had torn his shirt. The v line of his body leading down to his crotch visible, a light dusting of hair pepper his happy trail and Illya's face feels a little too hot.

"Peril! You look unwell. Your face is all red. Are you hurting elsewhere?" He stretches out a palm and touches Illya's forehead and neck, checking for temperature. His body shrinks at the touch and Napoleon thinks he must be really hurting somewhere. Napoleon panics a little, "Am I hurting you?" Illya looks away quickly. This much attention from Napoleon is unnatural for him. And all that adrenaline with nowhere to go, is making illya all but hard. There's a tough line in his jeans and he uses his non-bleeding hand to cover himself, only barely.

Napoleon moves closer to him, and using both hands to hold his face, tries to examine every part of his neck and head. All Illya could do was to try and push Napoleon away but his bleeding hand was hurting too much to do anything, other than gently touch Napoleon's chest. The muscles under his fingers were firm and warm as he breathes in and out. His other hand comes up to do the same and Napoleon moves forward and _oh.._ His leg fits the gap between Illya's thighs and he feels just how hard Illya is.

Illya really  _did_ feel physically ill at that moment, embarrassed to even be in this situation. "I.. I am sorry." He shuts his eyes.

There's a long pause and then, "I can take care of that for you, Illya."

There's something in the way Napoleon says his name, firm and unwavering, he feels the heat increase ten fold and turns to look away from Napoleon.

"..If you want me to."

Illya is breathing a little too hard now but he manages to nod a tiny bit.

Napoleon crowds Illya against the concrete beam he had been leaning on just a couple of minutes ago and lets his hand wander slowly down his neck and onto his torso. Illya jumps a little at the ghostly touch against his stomach. He was always a little too sensitive around this area. Napoleon notices and starts to run his fingers more firmly up and down his abdomen, at the same time pushing Illya's shirt up and under his arms. Illya's dick jumps excitedly and he bites his lips to suppress a moan. "Illya. Look at me." Illya opens his eyes and looks straight at Napoleon. "I want to hear you," Napoleon says as one of his hands tugs at Illya's belt. Illya shakes his head. His lips are white where his teeth is biting into it and Napoleon licks into it in one swift moment. Illya lets go and opens his mouth as Napoleon's tongue darts in.

Illya holds himself up by wrapping his arms around Napoleon's neck while Napoleon starts to push his thigh up into his crotch. His hips move in a circular motion as his waist rubs against Illya's rapidly raising dick. Napoleon tugs at Illya's belt again, once, twice, and then his fly is open and a tug and a pull and his dick is jumping in the cool air, the precum sticking to his stomach where it had bounced off and glistens against the pale moonlight.

Napoleon bends down to lick a line from his nipple to his navel and then lower and lower and takes the tip into his mouth. Gently sucking and licking at the frenulum. Illya opens his mouth in a wordless moan, his head knocking back against the concrete and his hands wondering in Napoleon's hair.

Illya's body is trembling. It feels too good but it also feels like he's in a daydream. Illya has always felt a certain something for this cowboy but how could he be sure that Napoleon felt the same way too?

Napoleon lets a wet pop go as he gets off of Illya and stands up to face him. Illya is suddenly aware of too much space between the both of them and is immediately worried that he had done something wrong.

"I. want. to. hear. you," Napoleon says between breaths.

It is both a demand and a plea. It seemed like a small price to pay to get Napoleon back on him. So he nods and Napoleon is immediately back on his mouth. Their breaths mingling as Napoleon releases himself from the confines of his tightening pants. His hand is big enough to hold the both of them together. The heads of their dicks rubbing slow and torturous. Illya's breathing is loud in napoleon's ears and he starts to let out a soft moan. Napoleon mouths at Illya's hairline just behind his ear and it feels good. His hand massaging the glands together with only their precum for lube.

Napoleon's breath is hot on Illya's neck and it sends goosebumps down Illya's spine. Napoleon's other hand comes up to his lower abdomen and he starts playing with the little hairs there, pulling and then smoothing it out against his stomach. He shivers a little and it sends a jolt of pleasure straight down to his dick.

After that, it was all a blur. They are both muscles and soft lines and hard dicks rutting at each other, too fast and too hard. Their mouths collide in rough decisions and then staying barely apart, breathing the same air and Illya is moaning as he comes from too much friction and not enough lube. Hearing Illya moan was Napoleon's trigger and his orgasm came in waves and crashes and he shakes through it as Illya kisses him gently.

Napoleon lets go of their softening cocks and brings his fingers up to Illya's mouth prompting him to lick it. Illya's tongue darts out and wraps around the digits and tastes himself and Napoleon, his dick twitching in interest.

In the distance, the sound of the helicopter breaks their dazed demeanours.

And in that very second, Napoleon is back in his clothes, looking perfect as ever, not a hair out of place except for that tear in his undershirt.

"Let's go Illya. We'll save round two for later."


End file.
